Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Introduction

The idea for this project is dedicated to my students at the Boston Architectural College (BAC). BAC students train to become architects, landscape architects, and designers. My course is required for the landscape architecture students at the BAC and it’s a science elective for the rest. BAC students are real problem solvers and the ideas in here are for problem solvers. I was recruited to teach at the BAC because I’ve been communicating about science to non-scientists for a long time. Perhaps in that way I’m a problem solver too, because I my specialty is making science understandable to people without formal scientific training. Most people are interested in what science can tell them about the world but most of my students come into class not necessarily “liking” science. So engaging people in scientific thought and analysis is a challenging goal.

Many of my BAC students are career changers, which I was, and they work very hard to accomplish their degrees, often at the expense of having a “life.” The BAC's concurrent educational program requires students to work in their discipline during the day and take classes at night. You can imagine that my students look and feel their best at five PM on a Wednesday night after battling traffic and finding a parking space on busy Newbury Street in Boston--all at the end of a long day's work. So the experience I have to share with you--an experience that made an indelible mark in my psyche as a teacher-- is an experience unique to the BAC and its students. These are "real" people whose feet are on the ground. Like I said, problem solvers. They're visual learners, quick studies with good brains, designers who grapple with the world of ideas and in particular, scientific ideas. Here's the story of my life-changing experience with my BAC students.

As a botanist I've pondered for years about chloroplasts, the photosynthetic bacteria that live in leaf cells and partner with plants. Chloroplasts, not plants, perform photosynthesis. Chloroplasts share the products of photosynthesis with the plant they dwell in, whose leaves are a kind of solar panel that house the chloroplasts. The plant leaf provides shelter, water, and proper exposure to light, but it’s the chloroplasts, actual separate organisms with their own DNA, that do the productive work of photosynthesis. We know what happens to leaves in the fall. But what happens to the millions of chloroplasts that live in each leaf? Do they die? Do their protein- and mineral-rich bodies (expensive to make and maintain) break apart into their component parts? Are they absorbed and stored somewhere, inactive, in the plant? And what happens in spring? How are chloroplasts recruited to take their place in the growing leaves? Are they somehow taken out of storage? Where do they come from? Are they put back together to function as photosynthetic entities? I've discussed these questions widely with my colleagues and even made inquiries to photosynthesis specialists. No one, especially me, has been able to come up with an answer. That is, until I brought the questions up one night to my BAC students.

It was the end of the semester, a warm night in May. It was time to go home. Time to call it a day. Instead, I insisted, unwisely I realized at the time, to continue class for a few more minutes. I asked the question, “What happens to chloroplasts in the fall?” And there was silence. Was it a trick question? Something I’d gone over in a flash, never coming back to? Was it something that would show up on the final? My students thought for a moment, quiet, which they always are. I perceived that their problem-solving apparatus had gone into gear and I didn’t break the silence, even after a long minute or two. Finally a student in the B-Arch program raised his hand and suggested, "Didn't you show us twigs last winter that were green under the bark?--I think you said that means they're doing photosynthesis....and if they're photosynthesizing doesn't that mean there are chloroplasts under the bark and in buds all winter?"

In a few simple sentences this student answered a questions that had bugged me for years. Practical, to the point, yet somehow inspired to think way outside of his design box. How he came up with the answer I don't know. How did he put his finger on the answer so effectively? So elegantly? Lecture notes? Field experience? Whatever, he cut through the complexities that had somehow hampered me from answering it the question. His answer made a statement pertinent to design—something we had been discussing all semester: Plants are structurally simple organisms that function in complex ways.

What magic motivates my students to think about plants as models for design? How is it that they use a science course as inspiration for their practice? How do they bridge the gap between academics and work, science and design, and how do they do it in a classroom when most of the world is relaxing with a glass of something red?

In these pages I’ll explore botany for designers much as I do in class. With illustrations, questions, comparisons. To get the most out of my class I ask my students to observe, document, and analyze nature. If these pages inspire you to do the same, I will have achieved my goal.

4 comments:

PS. For eliminating some confusion I recommended to specify London, England. City of London can be found in Ontario, Canada same in Ohio, in Massachusetts USA and probably more location than I'm aware of.

This is great!Your introduction just tweaked the string that ties my thinking cap to my head...I am awed by desert plants (cactus) that have to strive for every drop of water, and reflect that quest for water quite dramatically in their structure/design. Desert plants are 'foreign' to me, in that I didn't grow up with them, so I have fewer preconceived ideas about the function of their structures.Now I don't know why your intro made me think that, but it did, and I like that! Thanks!

This describes one of the reasons that I have come to really enjoy my experience at the BAC. The wealth of information that I am able to gain from not just the instructors, but also the students around me, and is mostly encouraged by the instructors in creating a dialogue between the students.

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Growth = Movement

Plants don't "move" but plant tissue stretches, warps, bends, contracts and expands in response to growth stimuli. We can see evidence of this kind of slow-motion movement in any plant form we observe. In this detail of old tree we can see how woody tissue responded over decades of growth to the "knot" in the center.

Dune Stabilizers

Grasses like this help stabilize dunes and at the same time move with the wind.

Bittersweet Double Helix

Most plants express some kind of helical growth form. Many plants also exhibit thigmotrophy, which is a kind of movement toward other surfaces. Ivy that grows on a wall, moss growing along the pavement, and climbing vines like this bittersweet are all examples of thigmotrophy. This kind of growth allows various plants to reach sunlight, to retain water, and to make their fruit available for dispersal.

Plant Movement

Plants search out the light and move toward it. Stems elongate toward the light in etiolation, seen in this photo.

Migrating Crops

Corn, which was originally cultivated in Central America, has migrated to every part of the world through the activities of its human partners.

Partners Help Plants Move

Pollinators and other partners help plants get around. This unlikely pollinator will spread pollen from one individual to the next.

Nicotiana

Plant some Nicotiana outside your afternoon-shade window and you'll get great aroma all summer long.

The smell of fresh apples

Mmm...a barrel of fresh apples smells great.

Magnolia

Magnolia's wonderful aroma is remembered all year.

Pineapple Patterns

The appearance and aroma of a pineapple are distinctive but they are only part of its relevant characteristics.

Fiddlehead

The characteristic fern shape, circinnate vernation, can be seem in other plants too.

Milkweed Seeds

It's no accident that these seeds are arranged like the pineapple above. The milkweed and pineapple share a common ancestor that they inherited this body plan from.

Inspiration

Velcro was inspired by the lowly burdock plant.

Darwin's Garden

These formal plantings are part of Darwin's gardens at Downe House. He also used extensive experimental gardens and greenhouses.

Milkweed and Bumblebee

Looking closely at a flower and its pollination partner teaches us about the Naturalistic Philosophy.

Our garden

A view of our garden in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Pattern and Process

Looking closely at all parts of the plant helps us develop an awareness of its patterns and process

About Me

I communicate science to non-scientists. My interest in the intersection between art and science, which I consider to be closely related practices, is the focus of two essay collections I am working on. As a Harvard PhD I realized that the work we do in the library and laboratory, while worthy in and of itself, does not necessarily translate to normal people. Bridging that gap is my goal in my teaching practice and in these posts. I teach college sophomores at Boston University and I teach in the sustainability program at the Boston Architectural College.